Violently Overprotective Girlfriend
by The Fighting Irishman
Summary: It does not do well to anger a Psychic...especially if she's been taking kickboxing lessons. A One-Shot from the TrodaireVerse.


A/N: I own a copy of at least one game from every Generation, but that's about it.

Sabrina wouldn't call herself violent. No, not at all. Sure, she had been training on that wooden dummy at the Fight Club for about a month now and maybe she knew some kickboxing thanks to a good teacher, but she wouldn't consider herself violent. Ninety-nine times out of one hundred, she was more than willing to stay calm and resolve an issue through talking, coercion, and perhaps even a little psychic suggestion.

This, of course, was all before she came into the Fight Club that chilly fall morning and saw her boyfriend Trodaire sitting on a chair with his shirt (and most of his face) coated with blood.

"TRODAIRE!" She shrieked, dropping the box of muffins she'd brought for everyone to the ground and running over to him. Paulie was currently dabbing Trodaire's bloody nose with some cotton, but when Trodaire looked over and saw Sabrina the face he made indicated that _this _was the absolute last thing that he needed to have happen.

"Hi Rina." He said, his voice a little muffled from the cotton wedged up his nostrils. If the situation weren't so gruesome-looking, Sabrina would be teasing him for sounding like he was speaking with his nose plugged. Except his nose actually was plugged, so that made it decidedly unfunny. "Kinda hoped you wouldn't come in and see this." He said sheepishly, like he was a kid caught sticking his hand in the cookie jar. Sabrina pulled up a chair next to Paulie, not-so-gently nudging the older man aside so that she could be the primary caregiver.

"Well I have now." She harrumphed, looking him over. "You look like you got run over by a stampede of Tauros. What in the name of Arceus did you do?"

"Was sparring." Trodaire said sheepishly. Sabrina rolled her eyes.

"Trodaire, I told you to take it easy with that. What happened?" She asked.

"Took an elbow to the nose. Good hit. Probably broke it." He replied. Sabrina heard this and stared at her boyfriend's nose. Sure enough, it looked a little warped. She felt a little sick to her stomach.

"So what are you going to do? Do you need me to call the Poke Center?" She asked in a tone that contained a bare trace of concern. Trodaire, however, knew that on the inside she was currently freaking out. He smiled and shook his head.

"Nah. Paulie and I were gonna get the bleeding to stop, and then we were gonna pop it in place again." He said matter-of-factly, as if he were asked the time of day. Sabrina fought the urge to puke. She furrowed her brow in disgust.

"That's hideous. Why on earth would you do that?" She asked.

"It's worked before." Trodaire said. He turned to Paulie. "Can you get me another shirt, Paulie? I'm thinking this one has seen its last days." The older gent nodded, and waddled off to grab one of the spare FIGHT CLUB t-shirts from one of the crates in the back room. Those things had been selling like hot cakes; hopefully there was still one left in Trodaire's size. Sabrina raised an eyebrow.

"'Worked before?'" She asked. Trodaire looked at her, and through the puffed up nose, blood and sweat coating his face it was clear he was smiling at her.

"Come on, Rina. I'm from Orre. You think this is the first time I've had my nose broken?" He asked teasingly.

Sabrina took this moment to study him. Trodaire was wearing a cutoff t-shirt, so she could clearly see his shoulders and arms as well. And by golly, what a sight they were. Various nicks and oh-so-slight discolorations, all of which were miniscule on their own, but added up together made a tapestry of scars that indicated a rough and tumble life for the man in that skin. She'd never noticed this before: Trodaire always slept with a long sleeve shirt on.

"Arceus, your arms…" She said in awe. Trodaire chuckled.

"Didn't I tell you I come from the dust of the earth? Well, you and I both know that the dust of the earth gets trampled and kicked up every now and then." He said.

He was right. Of course he was right. Every now and then, whenever Sabrina got a message on her PokeGear from Trodaire asking her if she wanted to make plans, she almost forgot that her boyfriend was a fighter at his core. You wouldn't know if from the things that they entertained themselves with. Recently, Erika had dragged Sabrina and the rest of the girls to one of her contests in Hoenn, and while Sabrina knew that Janine and Misty would probably have fun, what surprised her most was the fact that Trodaire was absolutely mesmerized by the performances. Like a little kid seeing a Pokemon for the first time. Whenever he wasn't in the Fight Club, he was sitting in one of the comfortable chairs in her mansion reading some big archaic history book (he loved the stories, he said) or riding his bicycle to Cerulean City so he could sit on the hill of Cerulean Cape and just watch the sea waves crash against the rocks below. If she didn't know any better, she'd see these moments and think that Trodaire Phoenix was a bit of a softy.

Then of course the next time she would see him he would be teaching a Himonlee how to knock an opponent right the hell out with a High Jump Kick, so it was clear she wouldn't be accusing him of going soft on her anytime soon. Just ask Lieutenant Surge.

Lieutenant Surge…

"Trodaire…" Sabrina began slowly. "Who were you sparring with?" She asked. Trodaire did not detect the undercurrent of danger in her tone, and gestured to the corner of the boxing ring.

"Eh, the Lieutenant over there. Got in a lucky hit on me, didn't you sir?" He asked cheerily.

Lieutenant Surge was a very large man. Six and a half feet tall, he was easily the tallest and biggest gym leader in Kanto and perhaps even in all of the land. Only Lance was really able to see him on eye level, and Lance was still a good inch shorter than him. And the Dragon Master was a string bean compared to Surge's muscular physique, which had been sculpted from a long and decorated career in the armed forces. He was a proud man, a strong fighter, and absolutely the kind of guy you'd enjoy having a beer with.

And there he was in the corner of the ring, cowering before the advancing storm like a little girl.

"You alright there, sir?" Trodaire asked. Despite the Lieutenant's frequent insistences that it was just "Surge" or anything less formal then his old rank, Trodaire just couldn't help himself in referring to the man by his position. Probably because men of law were so few and far in between in Orre, and even fewer than that were even competent/honorable in their positions. It was all about respect.

Lieutenant Surge certainly wasn't respecting Trodaire's decision to spill the beans to Sabrina about what had happened. She turned around, and honest to Arceus her eyes were on fire complete with flames nearly singeing her eyebrows. Her face wasn't scrunched into a demonic snarl like he'd see that redhead from Cerulean pull when someone made her mad, but the fact that Sabrina's face was completely expressionless just made this scarier.

"Trodaire?" She asked calmly. "Do you mind if I step in?" Trodaire shrugged.

"Go right ahead. Just be careful. I think I bled through all of our stash of cotton swabs for the day." Trodaire said. Sabrina patted him on the head, and then took off her coat. She'd already come dressed in workout-acceptable clothing with the assumption she'd be practicing on that wooden dummy again, but this was oh so much more enticing.

From his position in the corner of the ring, Lt. Surge managed to find his voice.

"Hey, what gives bud?" He squeaked. "I thought ya would keep dis between you and me!" Trodaire shrugged.

"Sorry, sir. My girlfriend is psychic. Even if I tried lying to her, she'd find out later." He admitted. Surge raised an eyebrow.

"Aw, come on! Dat's just lame! I mean, what am I supposed to do here?" He gestured to Sabrina, who had ducked underneath the ropes and was now standing at the other end of the ring with a look of tranquil fury in her eyes. "I mean, look at dis! I'm twice her size, and I can't fight a _girl!_"

In hindsight, this was probably not the smartest thing to say.

"Hey, Trodaire!" Erika called, as she stepped into the Fight Club. "Have you seen Sabrina? She and I were supposed to go shopping today but when I couldn't find her at the gym her Alakazam told me to check her-" The Celadon gym leader stopped cold, the words dying in her throat.

Trodaire and Paulie were sitting on folding chairs a few feet from the boxing ring in the center of the gym, eating ravenously and watching the show in front of them. From the looks of his face, Erika could tell that Trodaire had recently broken his nose. She sighed. Looks like Vileplume would have to cook up a herbal remedy with her soon…

But that wasn't what caused her to stop cold. What stopped her in shock was the sight _in _the ring. In the middle of the ring was a man…well that was a polite way of putting it. In reality he was currently curled up in the fetal position and was shielding his face with his hands. Standing above him and currently stomping him six feet into the ground was Sabrina, who by the grace of Arceus at least was not wearing heels. The look of violent rage on her face was completely unlike anything Erika had ever seen from her friend.

"Um…I think I'm missing some context here…" Erika whispered to herself, before pulling up a chair next to Paulie. "Um, Paulie? What is going on?" She asked. The older Saffronian looked at her and smiled.

"Hiya, sweet'eart! Ol' Troddie here done got his nose busted up by da Lieutenant, and now ol' Rina is teaching 'im not to mess with her boy!" He said cheerily. Erika processed this, and then looked back at the ring. Sure enough, that currently whimpering mass of testosterone was indeed the esteemed Lieutenant Surge, who was currently yelping something about how he didn't fight girls. Erika raised an eyebrow.

"So what you're saying is…Surge is getting beaten up by Sabrina?" She asked.

"It sure looks that way." Trodaire said. He looked over at the Celadon leader, and she was relieved to see that at least they'd knocked his nose back into place. That made the process of stuffing bitter herbs up his nose much easier. "Aren't you going to break them up?" He asked. Erika pondered this for a moment, and then sweetly shook her head.

"Hm…nah. Surge was making a bunch of stupidly sexist jokes at the last Pokemon League meeting, so I think that this is perfect punishment." She said. Trodaire raised an eyebrow.

"The Lieutenant's a sexist?" He asked, somewhat darkly. Erika sensed where he was going with this and shook her head.

"Oh, no! Not like that. It's just…how do I put this?" She thought it over, and then the answer came to her. "Put it this way: Brock had to learn his 'moves' from _someone._"

Trodaire didn't say anything, instead smiling a little bit and rolling his eyes. Then he turned back to the ring, watched one of Sabrina's heels catch the back of Surge's head, and paled. He pulled out his PokeGear and began to frantically type something in. Erika leaned over.

"What are you doing?" She asked.

"Marking a date in my PokeGear…a few weeks in advance." He said. Erika raised an eyebrow.

"What date?" She asked.

"Sabrina's birthday is in a month." Trodaire said. "And if this is what she does to people who hurt me I hate to see what she'd actually do to me."

A/N: Another One-Shot in the TrodaireVerse, and hopefully one that made you smile. Don't worry, I'll continue to post things here and there, though it might be a while before I commit to another full-length novel like The Fight Club. I have some ideas, but nothing concrete yet. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy my ever-growing collection of stories.


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